


Dreadfully Distinct

by Vicenderbeth



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Clones, Comfort, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Fluff, M/M, New take on respawn mechanism, Replicants, Replicates, Respawn, cloning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 11:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14914161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicenderbeth/pseuds/Vicenderbeth
Summary: Two defective replicates find love among thousands of others. Such love is foreign and fleeting.Excerpt:“Lucien.” They both whispered at the same time in their identical voices for the lack of a better name to call. They stared at each other’s faces illuminated by the eerie faint glow, eyes skimming over all its foreignness and familiarity like they were truly looking at each other for the first time. B-060 was the first to look away, his tears soaking the front of R-059’s shirt. They stayed still, neither of them knew what to do.





	Dreadfully Distinct

**Author's Note:**

> Respawn is not what you think. Deaths are permanent, but that's alright. Mann Co. has a lot of replacements. 
> 
> This fic is a piece of garbage written at an airport. Please comment down below to cure my depression and prevent me from switching to writing for another fandom because I seldom get feedback and I am really discouraged from writing any more of these. Thanks!

_**Dreadfully distinct.** _

_Are we the same piece?_ He asked himself quietly, a lit cigarette rolling casually between his gloved fingers as he exhaled a small cloud of smoke, the flimsy duvet shifting ever so slightly with the uneven breathing of a sleeping man, whose brows furrowed even in his slumber. Looking at him was like looking into a mirror. He mused quietly as he shook off the withering tip of his cigarette. Though resting as comfortably as he could in an unused storage room on a bare mattress and tucked away from the many eyes of the Greys and the Administrator, his heart still thundered within the confines of his chest as he silently counted how many there are before it is finally _him_. 

The man stirred beside him and propped himself up with one hand while rubbing his face with another, blindly grasping for the balaclava that should have been there before remembering its resting place next to the mattress.

“Well, well, look who’s awake,” He pressed a kiss onto the man’s cheek that reeked of smoke but the latter took it with an appreciative hum, “My sleeping beauty.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” The other asked, his voice hoarse and husky from sleep, “The battle does not commence until the sixth hour.” He poked at his sleek silver watch and glared at the faint LCD screen with bleary eyes. _04:02_ , it simply read. He too remembered the last Spy clone that fell before yesterday’s battle came to a conclusion. He couldn’t help but felt as if his chest was being squeezed by an invisible hand and breathing suddenly became very difficult. 

He gasped. “ R -059.”

“ _Oui,_ B-060?” The first man, known to the Mann Co. Lab Facilities as Prototype R-059, breathed out a single sorrowful syllable as he looked over at his lover’s watch. 

B-060 did not know what to say after that as he searched his reservoir of cunning commentaries. Instead, he sat up and picked up his blue mask and wrung the thin material in his pale hands, pulling it around his index and middle fingers until they turned a light shade of pink.

_04:25._ He got to say something. He got to. This…  _Affair_ that they have been having is surely something special. He needs to say something. 

“So… Do you think we will ever see Antoinette?” He rasped, his throat constricting to a point that it was difficult to speak. Silence. He closed his mouth with an audible sound. _Stupid._ Why does he _have_ to talk about that woman?  The blurry visage of a brunette surfaced in his mind, the vision of which stirred a few bits of distant and fleeting emotions within him. She and her son. _Their son_. They stood side by side at the train station, an exhausted smile playing at her beautiful ruby lips as she tried to comfort the little one, who wailed and tried to chase after the train. Little Jeremy, he had blue eyes just like his… 

At the mention of The Woman, R-059 frowned and smothered the cigarette against the concrete floor. He turned to look at the BLU, whose fingers were still entwined in the fabric. He slid a hand under B-060’s chin and tilted it upwards gently though his tone was harsh and demanding: “Look at me.”

B-060 looked up wearily, his countenance calm and collected save for the telltale glisten in his ice blue eyes, “Do you think replicates go to heaven?”

“What stupid question is that?” R-059 let out a huff, baring his teeth like he just heard the funniest joke since his creation. “My father said heaven doesn’t exist.” He muttered, feeling stupid for bringing up his – no, _their_ – lives before they “became” mercenaries. 

B-060 nodded quietly in agreement. Their “father” indeed did not believe in God. “But what of our mother? She said one may go to heaven –”

“I don’t think we have souls to begin with, BLU. Bet the original man, the _actual_ Spy does and he will indeed see Antoinette in that blasted heaven. ” R-059 cut him off abruptly and thrust a cigarette in his hand without looking at him, his bitter voice dripping with sarcasm. “Here, calm down and stop with the nonsense.” Neither of them needed the sentimentality at that moment; in fact, neither of them wanted to think about the inevitability of their separation and shortly after that, death. 

“D’accord.” B-060 took a lungful and exhaled blissfully, his eyes fluttering close as the familiar smell of cigs tinged the air surrounding him. They stayed that for a while, both puffing away at a box of cigs and stealing glances at the watch that laid between them, both too afraid took look yet too anxious to not. The Watch was an interesting instrument indeed; it made the Spy-prototypes go invisible and therefore undetected by their supposed enemies. At least that was how it worked in the lab simulations and hopefully how it works in the “real thing”. Needless to say, its other function was to tell time as all other watches do. The Watch was regulation. The Watch symbolized the Spy’s function in the Battlefield. The Watch is the only barrier between the Spy and the enemies, who were better armed and prepared in every aspect. 

Or so they’ve been told. The ones that miraculously survive at the end of a day after their numbers have been called refused to talk to any others about the Battlefield. They came back from the same cylindrical glass chamber in which they were ported to the Battlefield, often gory and bone-tired. They ignored all polite inquiries about the Battlefield and retired to their chambers as soon as supper ends.

B-060 shook the last box and to his dismay, no more carcinogenic sticks fell out of its gaping cardboard mouth. He heaved a sigh and tossed it to the side. “Any more?” He asked, maybe a bit too hopefully.

“ _Non_.” The RED replied dryly, twisting the butt of the last cigarette and it went out immediately. “We have no more and no more will be had.” He mused, chuckling at the amount of truth and idiocy in that single sentence and peeked at the ghostly blue glow of the watch, its rectangular surface the only light source in their little universe. _05:20_. The blinding white text prickled his eyes and tears soon filled them to the brim. 

“RED?” B-060 breathed and gingerly petted his cheek with the pad of his thumb, “What’s wrong?”

It happened all too fast as R-059 hurled the offending piece of electronics against the wall (it bounced off the wall with a thud and landed on the floor unscathed, God curse Mann Co. products and their signature durability) and pinned B-060 into the mattress with a bruising kiss, blindly gasping and grasping against  each other, tearing once again at the identical white garments that they have undressed and dressed themselves in earlier last night until lips were against lips and skin against skin. They heaved and panted but neither of them wanted to go any further. 

“Lucien.” They both whispered at the same time in their identical voices for the lack of a better name to call. They stared at each other’s faces illuminated by the eerie faint glow, eyes skimming over all its foreignness and familiarity like they were truly looking at each other for the first time. B-060 was the first to look away, his tears soaking the front of R-059’s shirt. They stayed still, neither of them knew what to do. 

R-059 peeled off his gloves and cupped B-060’s face and their eyes met, both wet and red-rimmed. R-059’s lips quivered and he heard himself ask: “What’s the count for RED again?”

Drawing in another breath, B-060 replied quietly, his voice cracking at its edges. “R-057 was the last for yesterday.”

R-059 closed his eyes. “He was a fine gentleman. And for BLU…?”

Almost inaudibly, B-060 rasped: “B-054.”

His lover frowned. “Oh.” He tried to smile but it came out more like a grimace. “At least we don’t have to fight each other or anything like that.”

B-060’s lips quivered. He can’t do this anymore, he has to say it even though it is something so goddamn peculiar and foreign; it is the least he can offer the RED.  The thought of  _him_ going inside that dreaded  T ube and disappearing with a brilliant  violet flash alone  was terrifying enough.  He tightened his hold around the other’s waist almost instinctively.  _He doesn’t want R-059 to go._

“I don’t want you to go.” He blurted out before he noticed what he was saying and immediately regretted his momentary slip of the tongue when he felt his lover stiffen in his arms. Hands fumbled to push him away. He felt disgusted with himself as tears prickled his eyes again. _Weak. Useless._ He bit back a pathetic sob and choked. “Sorry.” _Sorry for ruining everything._ He’s a slobbering mess. He’s a blubbering fool. He is a fucking defect. Replicates don’t _love_. 

He felt R-059 burying his nose in the crook of his neck. “I don’t want you to go either.” He mumbled against the sweaty skin. “This is stupid.”

“Y-yes. I, I – ”

The h arsh florescent light came with a loud crash  as four armed Greys demolished the drywall sides of their haven, their masked faces inexpressive to the apparent treason that w as happening right in front of their eyes. A small woman pushed apart the impenetrable wall of Greys and crossed to their side. The Spies simply glared at her in silence, waiting for her to inform them of their doom. 

The woman ran a tiny hand against her purple uniform and patted at nonexistent wrinkles and dust. She straightened her back and looked at the pair, her eyes inscrutable behind her black-rimmed glasses. Seeing that neither of them was willing to speak, she cleared her throat and flipped several pages on her clipboard, squinting at the small text and spoke with a voice too loud and too sure for her stature.  
“Mister R-059 and B-060.” Her expression was reset in the most subtle way to a carefully maintained state of blankness as to say that she meant business, “You gentlemen are surely aware of what you have done in the past 18 hours as it is considered in company policy as tr – ”

B-060 shook the dust from his suit jacket and all weapons were pointed at him, cocked and ready to blow his head off any moment they pleased. He slowly raised both of his hands as to show that he was not attempting to defy the authority at this point in time but the rifles did not lower an inch, the shiny metal glinting menacingly.

“Get on with it, Pauling. Quit the talk.” His voice lost all of its hoarseness and tremor and was now slow and sibilant, his eyes darting between Pauling and her underdogs. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Pauling shook her head and the meticulously tied-up bun wobbled along with it. “ Withdraw the weapons, gentlemen.” She signaled at the Greys, who obeyed without a single moment of hesitation. “ As the previous and  _only_ case of treason we have had in this institution has indicated, the Administrator orders Mr. R-059 to execute – ”

The original Spy was a very careful man. He was cunning, cautious and calculating. He despised every act of hotheadedness and stupidity and he would  _most certainly_ despise it when R-059 jumped and lurched at the petite woman just to be slammed back into the ground by two masked Greys, landing a few well-placed kicks before Pauling signaled at them again to cease the assault. 

“That’s enough. Let go of him.” She ordered.

This time, the men were reluctant, their hands kept steely and bruising grips that pinned R-059’s arms against the cold floor and only let go when Pauling ordered them again. “Get. Out.” She  barked and pointed a  blue ballpoint pen at the door, which hung  only  on its upper hinge and made a groaning noise as the men pushed through it. She turned around, pressing two fingers against her left temple and clutched to her clipboard with the other hand. “The two of you.” She addressed them plainly this time, “Report to your respective halls now and prepare for Battle. This is the most I can do.”

–

A kick to his back nearly knocked him over as he stumbled across the white-tiled floor and into the open double steel doors of the Waiting Hall. “Get in, you fucking skinjob.” A  push that sent him scrambling in and fall onto his knees painfully. Just marvelous. “Fucking faggots.” Another Grey spat disdainfully and slammed the door shut behind him, deadbolt locking into its place. 

It seemed like his appearance disturbed a very discreet conversation of The Woman Antoinette among his carbon copies, but the others did not question him or the names that the Greys have been calling him when he found a spot to sit down.  B-060 glared unblinkingly at the winking display over their heads at the hall among several other identical men clad in BLU uniform,  who were getting heated on the topic of The Woman and Jeremy, hushed yet vile words were exchanged in French and fists were clenched but nobody wanted to go any further on the topic of family or whether or not God exists. Because they’re all going to die, really really soon. 

An impassive female voice announced over the loudspeakers: “Soldier, R-127.”

He started to regret their decision. He would rather be killed by R-059,  _executed_ in Ms. Pauling’s words. He doesn’t feel so eager to fight as he was the first few weeks after his creation. He doesn’t want any of this. He wanted anything but this,  this meaningless “war” that they’re fighting for some precious metal that he had never personally seen before in his short and unfortunate existence. 

“Spy, R-060.” His heart throbbed painfully and he buried his hands in the kid leather gloves, feigning exhaustion to hide the fact that his whole world was tumbling down into pieces, his stomach threatened to rise and everything spun around him. He needed to breathe but he couldn’t. How do you breathe when your only source of life, the only source of _happiness and meaning and OXYGEN_ leaves your very plane of existence? He opened his mouth. He wanted to scream, but no sound ever came out save for the pitiful gasps, the gushes of air that entered and left as his mouth formed an “O” like a  fish stranded on land, which probably looked ridiculous on the surveillance cameras. 

“Spy, B-060.” 

It is time. He quickly regained his composure and checked his revolver, sapper, invis-watch and disguise kit. There.  _The Battlefield will bring an end to all this in no time at all_ , he imagined R-059’s voice against his earlobe, familiar and soothing. He pulled up his jacket and peered between the buttoned dress shirt, where a purple bruise was already forming in the wake of Greys’ fury.  _Doesn’t matter._ He took one last glance at the rest of the room and went into the Tube, the glass doors closing behind him as the violet light started to spread. 

“B, zero-six-zero, Mercenary Park.” The same cold, indifferent voice stated. The light blinded him and he soon landed in a room. The Respawn room, he noted. To his surprise, prototypes of other classes that he had only seen in protocol videos were not there with them. He looked absently at his display and realized that they were all up at the front. 

Just delightful. He cursed his fate bitterly and walked out of the roll-up door. Just as he was passing the ridiculous amount of vegetation, he heard a familiar sound that resembled the hissing of decloak.

_A Spy_ . His bile rose up as he spun around, face-to-face with the enemy R-060 and staring down the silver barrel of a regulation revolver. 

Now R-060 wasn’t some defect like R-059 and B-060. He sneered mirthlessly and squeezed the trigger. 

_**Dreadfully distinct.** _

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of afterthought on Blade Runner 2049, of Joi and K.  
> Title taken from the Baseline Test.  
> Original Excerpt:  
> Dreadfully.  
> Is that an old fashioned word? Dreadfully.  
> Did you ever want to live in the nineteenth century? Dreadfully.  
> What’s it like to be filled with dread? Dreadfully.  
> Do you think you could find out all the answers to all the questions? Dreadfully.  
> Distinct.  
> How good are your eyes? Distinct.  
> Do you have a particular personality? Distinct.  
> What separates somebody from somebody else? Distinct.  
> Who do you admire most in the world? Distinct.  
> What was your most shameful moment? Distinct.  
> Dreadfully distinct.


End file.
